Vegas Blues: A Boy Named Sue
by the morrighan
Summary: We enter the book John is reading and follow the sordid adventures of a detective in Vegas...
1. Chapter 1

Vegas Blues: A Boy Named Sue

_It was going to be one of those days..._

Detective John Sheppard muttered the words as he sat in his car. Hands still grasping the steering wheel as he stared ahead of him. The heat of the day was rapidly penetrating the vehicle, sucking what little was left of the air conditioning. Peering through his sunglasses he surveyed the crime scene. A swath of yellow tape encompassed what appeared to be some kind of excavation. An archaeological dig. No, that wasn't it. He frowned, trying to recall the exact details. Gave up and exited his dirty red car.

Heat hit him, enveloping him like a second skin. He had started to sweat and he hadn't even taken a step yet. He cursed fate for bringing him to a crime scene in the middle of the God-forsaken desert instead of an air-conditioned casino.

At his approach the swarm of activity paused. He flipped open his rumpled grey jacket, flashing the police badge at his hip. The forensic team parted instantly. Silently he stepped under the crime scene tape, strode and stopped. More forensic specialists were in a deep trench. Mapping every inch with string. Taking photos. Amid the odd debris field of bones and rocks and roots was sprawled a decomposing corpse. Remnants of clothing clung to the bony protuberance of the skeleton. The medical examiner was hunched over it, latex gloves encasing her hands as she examined the corpse. Her touch as gentle as a lover's.

John stood a moment. Placed his hands on his hips. Something about the dessicate body was familiar but he couldn't place it. He glanced up to the phalanx of policemen surrounding the area. "Who's in charge?" he asked.

"Sayles," answered a young man, clearly disturbed by the body. He jerked a thumb towards a bulky man who was even now heading for him. Leaving some kind of argument. A woman's voice was railing at his backside as he reached John.

"Sargeant Sayles," the man introduced himself.

"Detective Sheppard," John returned the favor. Waited.

"We're about to move the body. We left it in situ for the forensic guys but they are almost done now. It's some sort of paleontology dig when they discovered the body, but they aren't cooperating fully."

"Who's in charge?" John repeated, glancing past the corpulent man to see another dig site a few yards away being cordoned off under vociferous protest.

"Doctor O'Meara."

"Great. An Irishman," John muttered. He headed for the second dig site, glancing back to see the body being gently shifted onto a canvas bag before being lifted from its erstwhile resting place. John wove through the milling crowd of technicians and policemen and cars. Paused, assessing the group ahead of him. His eye lingering on the young buxom blond who was talking excitedly on her cell phone. Dismissing her and the other grad student, a lanky young man who looked as if he was going to be sick. He regarded an older man. Impeccably dressed in a tweed suit and bow tie, gray hair short, glasses perched on his nose he was gesticulating back towards a tent. Arms flailing in the heat, creating waves in the air that made the distant hills shimmer.

He approached, confident, but his eye was drawn to a woman who was taking down the crime scene tape as a hapless policeman was trying to put it back up.

"I said no! This is not the crime scene! There's no murder here! None! It's over there! Didn't they teach you anything in police school? The body's a dead giveaway, isn't it? We have a time line here and it's bad enough you have compromised one dig site, let alone two! Do you have any idea how much scientific data you have destroyed? No, of course you don't!"

John smiled, approached as the man tried to stammer a reply of some sort. "Easy, Morton. I'll take it from here." The young man nodded gratefully, fleeing. John turned back but the woman had continued moving, rolling up the tape and removing it. She squatted near a trawl, staring at the protruding bones in the pit. John let his gaze wander across the long, brown ponytail snaking down her back. The khaki woven shirt. The khaki shorts hugging a very shapely rear. The fabric dipping down, gaping to give him a glimpse, just a glimpse of pink plaid panties. "What's so damn important down there?" he asked at last.

Doctor Moira O'Meara looked up at the slightly husky, low voice interrupting her. The tall, lean form of a man was blocking the sun. His trim, muscled body cast a long shadow across her, across the dig. She pivoted on her heels. Stood. His clothes were rumpled, oddly casual, belying the badge at his hip. Colors indeterminate as the shadows changed everything to murky hues. She found herself staring, staring at an impossibly handsome man. Dark hair askew. A trace of stubble on his face. Full perfect lips with the hint of a smile as he waited for her answer. Dark shades concealed his eyes. Moira regained her composure. "If you must know, _Archaeotherium_." He was silent. She frowned. "An entelodont. A prehistoric predator distantly related to the modern pig, but much, much larger and quite different in their physical appearance. Not to mention a host of other significant fossils all dating from the–"

"What's that?" John cut off the flow of words, her enthusiasm. He pointed.

She followed his finger to the skull protruding from the side of the earthen wall thrown up by the excavation. "It's not human, if that's what you're thinking. It's proto-human possibly, or an early ancestor. I haven't excavated the–"

"With those teeth?" John was staring at the partially revealed skull. The rows and rows of teeth. A memory tried to surface in the recesses of his mind but he couldn't catch it. It proved to be elusive. Fleeting. Like a dream. The whole area was making him feel on edge, and it had nothing to do with the crime scene or the dead body. He absently touched his chest where a bullet scar itched.

Moira glanced at the skull. "Yes. That threw me too. I won't know anything until it is completely excavated and I have it back in the lab for a full analysis." She eyed him, but he was staring at nothing. Hand at his chest, seemingly lost in himself. "Was there anything further, um, um..." She wasn't sure what to call him. What rank, what name.

He blinked. Met her gaze. "Detective, actually."

"Oh. Detective Actually, that's an odd name. If we're done here I'd like to get back to work."

He smiled. A genuine smile. He removed his shades. A slow motion of his hand pulling them off his face to reveal his brilliant green eyes. The merriment in them. "Detective John Sheppard," he corrected. "I take it you are Doctor O'Meara. Not an Irishman at all." He licked his lips, gaze traversing her form as if to confirm his deduction.

Moira stared, transfixed by both the revelation of his further beauty and the brief motion of his tongue over his full, perfect lips. "Yes," she replied, reprimanding herself.

"Don't you scientists have first names?"

"What? Oh. Yes. Moira. Can I get back to work now, detective?"

"Yes, doctor. Here." He handed her a card. "Let me know what you find out about that thing" He gestured at the skull again.

Moira took the card. Their fingers brushed. "Okay."

He waited, hand still out. Expectant.

"Oh! Here." She realized, handed him a card. "My contact information. Do I need to reiterate my statement?"

"No. I can read it later. But I may need to follow up." He took the card, pocketed it as she pocketed his. An odd mimicry of movement, hands sliding into pockets, sliding out empty.

"Well, I should, I should get back to work." She turned away from him. But turned back as a thought occurred. "Detective, do you need to confiscate everything in site one? Those are valuable, delicate specimens and I–"

"I'm afraid so. Evidence. It will be returned ASAP once forensics goes over it. As for now site one is a crime scene in an ongoing investigation."

She frowned. Turned and walked away from him. He stood, watching as she deftly jumped into the pit, began to dig carefully around the skull. Heedless of the dirt flying around her. Heedless of the way the khaki shorts hugged her rear. Heedless of the way her shirt lifted to give him a brief view of her naked back.

"Detective?"

The voice broke his salacious thoughts. He scowled, slid on his sunglasses and turned to the man interrupting him. "What?"

"We've taken all the statements. Can we release the witnesses?"

John glanced at the group waiting. The blond girl was giving him the eye. "Yeah. Let me see their statements." He took the notebook. Flipped through it, walking towards his car. It was a pretty straightforward account. The body had been discovered during the excavation, and the police had been called.

Once in his car he set the notebook aside. Lifted his shades to rub his eyes. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back, down his sides. He looked at the taped-off crime scene again. The desert spreading out all around him. Dirt and scrub and nothing for miles and miles. The power lines that were soon to be replaced, having collapsed under some kind of overload. Circuits blown and fried.

The feeling of deja vu would not go away, but for the life of him he couldn't quite place the memory. Scattered images made no sense to him. They were too fleeting. Too disjointed. He absently scratched at the scars again. Sighed. Focused his thoughts on Doctor O'Meara in those tight, tight shorts. With a smile he started the car. Mind returning to the investigation.

Yes. It was going to be one of _those_ days.


	2. Chapter 2

Vegas Blues: A Boy Named Sue2

John felt a chill but welcomed it. At least the morgue was cool. He could feel his sweat drying on his skin as he stood, eying the body on the table. It was cut open. What was left of the organs were being weighed and tested by an Asian woman. For some reason John had expected a rather whiny blond woman, but instead it was the usual lead coroner.

Doctor DeMouy moved with brisk efficiency. Saw him standing there. "I can't tell you the TOD or even how this poor soul died. The corpse is too atrophied and the elements have obscured all trace of identity. We're running dental now but the tissues are so dessicate we've only got a partial DNA. I can tell you he's been out there for at least six months, if not longer. And if I didn't know any better I'd say he was sucked dry."

John blinked. A memory surfaced, was gone before he could make any sense of it. "Sucked dry?" he repeated, dubious.

"Yes." The woman adjusted the glasses on her nose. "I'm not saying there's a vampire loose in Vegas but there's something."

"Something?"

"Yes. What puzzles me is how this body was buried so deeply and then discovered in a paleontology dig."

"They were tearing up the area for a new transformer to replace those old power lines. Then they found a prehistoric bone and called the museum. The paleontologists found the body."

"I can tell you he's been dead for six months or more. I'll have more when the test results get back to me."

John nodded. "What's that?" He pointed. There was a weird pattern on what was left of the chest skin. Despite the wrinkles and almost papery appearance wounds could be discerned. Odd round marks in a semi-circular pattern.

"I don't know." She turned to the corpse. Moved closer. Drew the overhead light down to illuminate the markings. "Some kind of indentations...possibly from scavengers or equipment. Perhaps a tattoo? It almost looks like..." She held her hand over the body. Fingers poised over the round markings. She dropped her hand to her side, shaking her head at her folly. Looked over to see John staring, a pensive expression on his face. "Have you seen this before, John?"

John opened his mouth to answer. Closed it. "No," he finally decided, voice gruff. He turned to go. Turned back. "Did you find any foreign substances?"

"Like drugs? No. There's so little fluid left in him I can't even tell you his blood type. He's been drained dry."

"Any kind of radiation?" he asked suddenly, without knowing why. A headache was slowly forming in his temples.

"No. Nothing like that. Why would ask that?"

John shrugged. Honestly couldn't answer. He stood a moment, eyes on the corpse. The skin dried, stretched taut over the screaming jaw, the wide eyesockets staring vacant. The odd marks on the chest. Nothing more than a husk now, a bag of bones to be tossed like so much garbage. Abruptly he left without another word.

"Another." John gestured. Watched the amber liquid fill the shot glass. The bar was a dark haven of blackness and obscurity against the bright lights of Vegas. It was dingy, a hole in the wall where tourists feared to tread. It was perfect.

The headaches were back. Pain in his temples as his memories fought and floated to the surface.

He downed a couple of aspirin, chased them with the shot of whiskey. He licked his lips as the warmth burned its way down him. He glanced at the bar's mirrors. At his reflection. He looked weary. Worn out. Like a dish towel used and then thrown away. He tapped his glass again. Watched the amber liquid fill the glass once more. Downed it in a long, satisfied swallow.

He turned to see women watching him. Waiting. Some familiar. Some not. All scantily clad. All inviting him with a tilt of the head. A smile. A turn of the hip. Offering a pleasant distraction from his thoughts. His phone vibrated. He ignored it. Deciding. Gestured to one and moved to his feet.

Moira cursed. Stared accusingly at her phone. "Why give me your number if you're not going to answer!" she fumed at the device. She set down the phone. Scowling as she stood in the lab. Staring at the data obtained from the skull and skeleton that were safely locked away in an air-tight drawer. She was astonished at the findings. But truth be told she was more astonished at the detective she had met. His rumpled attire. His offhand manner. His drop dead gorgeous looks and somewhat standoffish personality. Although he had been civil enough with her. Had even smiled.

She dwelt on that a moment, then shook herself out of the sensual reverie. Grabbed the phone. Hit redial. Again there was no answer, not even voice mail. Nothing. Scowling she eyed his card again. Decided to call the precinct and see if they knew where he could be found.

The phone was vibrating again. So much so it stuttered across the bedside table. Fell onto the floor.

"What was that?" asked the woman prone beneath John.

"Nothing. Nothing at all," he replied, pushing her onto her back once more.

Moira stared up at the seedy hotel, disbelief vying with disgust. She hadn't believed the man at the precinct who had directed her here. Wondered if it was a practical joke. She entered the dingy lobby. Passed a few bums and hookers on her way to the desk. "Um...I..."

"We only rent rooms by the hour, honey," the seedy proprietor informed with a smile. Revealing a few missing teeth. His bald spot gleamed under the one working light above the desk. "Whaddya want?"

"I'm looking for Detective Sheppard," she managed to state. Trying not to stare round.

The man snorted. "Another one? Well, you seem classier than most. Fourth floor. Room 405. He's got one now so you may have to wait."

"What? I'm not a, a, a hooker!" Moira spluttered, blushing. Outraged.

"Oh, that's right, we only have ladies here." He laughed, snorting again.

Moira glared. She climbed the stairs, anger guiding her. Nearly marched to the room. Hesitated. Glancing up and down the darkened hallway. The ratty carpet under her feet. The peeling paint on the walls. She banged her fist on the door. The gold numbers trembled as if in fear of her wrath. "Sheppard! Detective Sheppard!"

"Shit." John's arm was dangling over the edge of the bed in a vain attempt to grab his phone when Moira's voice penetrated. He sighed. Rolled onto his back and sat to pull on his boxer shorts. Pulled on his shirt but didn't bother to button it. He moved to the door, opened it. Smiling at her wide-eyed expression. "Yeah?" he asked, as if she had interrupted nothing extraordinary. Or embarrassing.

Moira stared, dumbfounded. John's dark brown hair was deliciously mussed. Brilliant green eyes full not of annoyance but merriment. Handsome face shadowed by stubble. Perfect full lips forming a smirk. His long, lean but muscled body filling the door frame as he lounged there, one arm half-raised, hand on the wall. As if oblivious. Silver hair glinted among the darker chest hairs. Circular scars marred his chest and torso. Her gaze followed the shirt's opening, followed the trail of dark, coarse hair down to his purple boxer shorts which were perilously poised on his narrow hips. The prominent bulge there revealing exactly what she had interrupted, as if his disarray hadn't already told her. Long legs and bare feet completed the picture.

He made a sound, clearing his throat. "Yeah?" he repeated. Enjoying both her consternation and her bold appraisal.

She met his gaze abruptly. Felt a blush and scowled at him. "Why don't you answer your phone? No," she held up a hand before he could answer, "I can see you are busy." Her gaze shot past him, over his shoulder as motion caught her eye. She met his gaze again. "I need to show you something in the lab. And no, I couldn't tell you over the phone, or send you a picture because of the nature of the data."

John smiled. She was flustered, angry, attracted all at once. His gaze flicked down to her breasts still encased in the khaki shirt she had been wearing at the excavation site. Down to her crotch as he wondered if she was reacting the way he was. His cock was hardening under her scrutiny, under her chagrin. To his disappointment the tight khaki shorts had been replaced by a pair of faded jeans. He met her gaze again, staring at her long, long hair as it billowed loose around her. Tempting his fingers with its silky softness. "Okay. Give me five."

"Five?" She glanced down to see the bulge in his shorts was larger. Longer. "You better make it ten, Sheppard, with that fucking thing! I'll be waiting in the lobby downstairs!"

He laughed. "I know where the lobby is."

"Good! Now take care of that before you trip over it!"

He laughed heartily as she glared, whirled and stomped down the hallway. Watched her leave, admiring the jeans hugging her rear, the way her hair swayed from side to side in time to her hips until she disappeared around the corner. He grinned. Shut the door as a hand slid up his back.

"Honey? Who was that?"

John turned to view the naked woman. "Work. Gotta go."

"Go? Not with this, sweetie." She smiled, catching hold. Caressing. Moving to her knees in front of him, tugging down his shorts.

"I gotta go to work to oh fuck," he sighed as she went to work on him. With a wry smile he shrugged. Surrendered. Enjoyed.

She freed him to smile up at him. "Don't worry, honey, I won't charge you for this."


	3. Chapter 3

Vegas Blues: A Boy Named Sue3

Moira checked her watch again. Pacing in the dirty lobby. Furious. Flustered. The image of the nearly naked detective dancing in her mind. Every salacious detail to be examined and reviewed. Repeatedly. She whirled, hearing him clomping down the stairs. Taking his time. Hastily dressed and almost presentable. Almost. Part of his shirt was slipping out of his pants and his rumpled jacket was a tad askew. The gold badge caught the light and gleamed at his hip. "Finally!" she fumed.

He stepped to her with a smile. "I decided to take your advice, O'Meara. I did need ten, well, fifteen to be fair. I didn't want to trip, after all. Let's go."

She stared. Made a disgusted sound in her throat and led him out of the motel. "We'll have to take a cab to–"

"My car. This way." He caught her arm, steered her across the parking lot. He was enjoying her disgust almost more than her embarrassment. It was turning him on despite the satisfaction he had achieved in the motel room.

Moira freed her arm, moved around the red car to the passenger side. Staring at the dented, dusty vehicle. She gathered her hair into an efficient ponytail, binding it with a band. Quick motions of her hands and arms but John found himself staring as the shirt slid, hugging her breasts, every dip and swell and the bra's outline visible as were her hard nipples until she lowered her arms. "What?" she snapped.

In reply he licked his lips. For a moment contemplating what it would be like to fuck her when she was well and truly pissed. "In." He unlocked the car.

Moira opened the door, slid onto the passenger seat. Cursing in her head. Not knowing if she was more pissed at finding him with a prostitute or the way her body was reacting to his, to him. And the way he was enjoying all of it. She tersely gave him the address, staring out of the dirty windshield.

He drove. Silent. Amused.

Moira tried not to look at him. Couldn't help herself. The rumpled woven shirt was giving her a teasing glimpse of what she had recently viewed much more openly. His pants were tenting a little and she wondered if it was merely the fabric, the way he was sitting, or him.

"Yes," he suddenly said. She looked at his face, mortified, as if he had divined her thoughts. But he was staring ahead as he drove.

"Yes, what?" she asked.

He glanced at her. Quirked a brow hearing the tone in her voice. Eyed the road again. "I want to know what that thing is. Even if it doesn't pertain to the case." He glanced at her. "Isn't that what you were thinking?"

"Of course. Of course it was," she replied too quickly. Eyed the road.

He smirked. Gaze roving over her before he changed lanes, heading through the city to streets full of commercial buildings. No bright lights beckoned. No neon signs tried to lure patrons. "Ah." He pulled into a parking lot that was half full. Parked his car in the slim shade of a sagging tree.

Moira got out of the car, was heading for the door of a gray building. John quickly followed on her heels, his long stride easily catching up with her. The building was quiet. Air-conditioned. Cool wisps of air greeted them, chased away the heat of the sun that clung to their bodies. John's boots oddly echoed on the tiled floor.

"What do you want to show me? The thing?"

"Yes. It's...I don't know what it is," she admitted.

"You don't?" They descended a flight of stairs. "What is this place anyway? I thought you were working with the museum."

"I am, and this place is affiliated with it. This is a state of the art lab, privately funded by several research groups. I um, I can't be involved with the museum. Like that."

"And why is that?" he asked. They were strolling down a hallway. The air was cooler. The shadows longer against the mint-colored walls and white floor. The faint hum of machines could be discerned over the constant thrum of the air-conditioning.

She was silent. They paused outside a door beveled with a glass front but bearing no name plaque, not even a number. She pulled a key card from her pocket. Inserted it into the slot. The little light flashed red, then green. A small bell sounded a welcome. Moira removed the card, opened the door. Entered. John followed on her heels. She stepped round him to close the door. He heard it lock, a quiet click as the lights automatically came on. She met his gaze a moment. "Detective, I...I don't know why I am showing you this. You probably won't believe it, but I do have the science to back up my findings. This thing, as you called it, is not, well, take a look for yourself."

Moira pulled on a white lab coat. A pair of purple latex gloves. She unlocked a drawer and opened it. Gestured for him to come closer.

John was staring at her. Oddly he found the white lab coat provocative. Briefly imagined her naked underneath it. Bending her over a table, grabbing that pert little ass but he ignored his libido and stepped next to her. Stared. The skull and a partial skeleton were spread out carefully in a climate controlled box, lit from underneath.

"We found part of the spine. You can see it has ridges, otherwise it could easily have been mistaken for human. And that partial hand. Note the, the claws. Claws, not nails. The skull itself is remarkably similar to a human's, but you can see the glaring differences. The eye sockets are like ours. The teeth are nothing like ours. For one there are too many. For another look how they are shaped, all pointed and lacking molars like we have. I have never seen anything like this! It's not human. It's not prehistoric. I've carbon-dated it twice. This is where it gets weird."

"This isn't weird enough?" he muttered, staring.

"The first reading was dated at only two years ago. But the second reading, the second reading was one hundred years ago. I've run the test myself. It doesn't make any sense. It's clearly been buried for maybe six months or less, but it is testing as being over one hundred years old! How is that even possible? Baring any cross-contamination from the prehistoric site itself and any residual human DNA the only you've seen this before," she accused, looking at him.

John was staring. Utterly still. There was a pain at the back of his head but he ignored it. Flashes of memory were assaulting him. He winced. Touched his chest. "Yeah. No. Not like this. With flesh. Skin...more human. I think. The...fuck." He rubbed his temples, had to turn away from the remains, from the harsh light illuminating them.

He closed his eyes as flashes filled his mind. Gunfire. A creature. Human, but not. Loud music. Gunshots. A pair of sixes in a card game. A terrific explosion sending a dark cloud into the hot, still sky. A silver trailer. Feeling a hand on his shoulder he opened his eyes. Turned to see Moira watching him. Concern in her deep brown eyes. He latched onto it like a life preserver pulling him from the brink. The brink of what he did not know.

"Detective? John, are you all right?"

"I...yeah. I..."

"Sit." She guided him into a nearby chair. Sat close to him, touching his arm.

"Thanks. I just...Moira, I can't remember. An old case, I think. I'm not sure."

"Oh. Okay. Relax, John. Here." She moved to get him a glass of water. Handed it to him. He took it, drank greedily. Licked his lips as a trickle spilled down the corner of his mouth and along his jaw, catching momentarily in the stubble before sliding down his long, long throat to disappear into his shirt's collar. John set the empty glass aside, for once not noting her prurient interest as more pressing concerns distracted him. "It will come back to you," she said, blinking and looking round the lab to restore her composure. Her normalcy.

"Will it? So far it hasn't. I mean nothing has. Nothing at all...until recently."

Moira considered. "You think you saw this...this thing alive?" He nodded. Shrugged. "I have an idea." She stood. Restored the drawer to its case but first took the skull from it. Placed it into a silver case lined with padding. She closed the drawer, locked it. Removed the gloves, the lab coat. Turned to see John watching her. Composed once more, as if just by watching her his inner turmoil had ceased. "We need to see someone who could create a facial reconstruction. He's trustworthy. He'd done work for me before."

"A doctor?" John asked, as she closed the case and held it at her side.

"No. An artist. Let's go."

"An artist? This should be good," he muttered unhappily.


	4. Chapter 4

Vegas Blues: A Boy Named Sue4

"An art gallery?" John shook his head as they entered the building. They were in a modest but slightly upscale part of town. The kind that had pricey boutiques and expensive little bistros and outrageously priced jewelry stores. The kind of place that never had the type of crime that required John's services. He scowled at the fashionably small gallery. The cool blue walls that were hung with oil paintings and charcoal sketches. Sculptures were poised on one side of the room. More art hung upon easels, inviting the eye with their 3D effects and bold colors.

Moira moved to the counter. Tapped the silver bell on it. A tinkling sound filled the air. John moved to stand next to her, but looked out the glass storefront window. He peered over his sunglasses to see a black SUV parked across the street. It stood out like a sore thumb. As did the dark sedan parked a few spaces down from the larger vehicle. John's eyes narrowed. Something didn't feel right. Hearing a noise he looked back at the counter. At a shorter man with brown, close-cropped hair and a trim beard. Clad in a casual blue woven shirt and tan slacks.

The man smiled. "Moy. What brings you to my humble establishment?" He eyed the silver case. "Another reconstruction?"

Moira smiled. "Yes, Evan, but this one's um, unusual."

"More unusual than the _Chalicotherium _you brought me last time?" he asked with a smile. Tone gentle, teasing. He was flirting.

John frowned. "We need it ASAP. For an ongoing investigation."

Evan eyed the other man at last. Frowned. "And who is this?"

"Oh! Sorry! Evan Lorne, this is–"

"Detective John Sheppard," John completed for her. Did not offer his hand in greeting.

"Ah. I see. So, Moy, are we on or off phase?" Evan asked, turning to her and seemingly dismissing the other man. He touched her hand as she set the case onto the counter. Fingers giving hers a slight, subtle caress. One that John would be sure to notice nevertheless.

Moira withdrew her hand. "Off. Evan, this is important. Please."

"Okay." He took the case, moved to a room in the back.

Moira stepped to follow him. John stopped her. "What was that? On or off phase? Is he your boyfriend?"

"Sometimes."

"Oh. A fuck buddy, then. Got it. And you're off phase now?"

"So?"

"So? He must not be that good. With me, baby, there's no off phase," he informed, his tone confiding. Confident. Cocky.

"So I noticed, detective. And don't ever call me baby again." She moved to the back of the gallery.

John smirked. About to follow but paused. Turned to view the street. Both the black SUV and the dark sedan were gone. Suspicious he left the store. Strolled up the street, seemingly oblivious but alert.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Moira shrugged. The skull was on a plastic turntable. Slowly revolving as the scanner cast a green glow over it. "I'm not. It's not human. I don't know what it is. But I think Detective Sheppard does."

"Who? Oh, that guy. Mr. Personality. Doesn't say much, does he?"

"No."

Evan shook his head. "Okay. Give me some time here to complete the scans and input them into the computer for a virtual rendering. I can build from there. I assume you just want a rough construction, without the bells and whistles?"

"Yes. Nothing fancy."

"What has this to do with that crime scene?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Then why is that detective so interested?"

"I don't know." Moira glanced at the skull. She eyed the computer screen. Already Evan was rendering muscles onto it. Flesh to follow every contour of the bone. Adding eyes. Hair. Quickly adjusting the tones of flesh, of eye color, hair color. Following the brow ridge, the extended jaw line, the rows of teeth creating the shape of the lips. The narrow nose and ears were vague guesses.

Finally the picture was complete. A nearly human but clearly not human face stared out at them from the computer. An angular face. Rows of sharp teeth. Eyes shaped more like a cat's than a human's. Long, lanky hair in thick braids. Pale flesh with little to no fat on the bone. It was creepy. Unreal. Impossible.

"I think I prefer the _Chalicotherium_," Evan noted.

"Yeah," Moira agreed. Put on a hand on his shoulder to stare at the face.

"Any ideas?"

"None. What the hell is this thing?" she wondered. Took the paper as he printed the image for her. A color copy of the face on the screen.

"Whatever this is, Moy, it can't be real. It has to be a hoax," Evan reasoned. Glanced at the skull as she took it, replaced it into the padded case.

"The bones are real," she stated. "It's no hoax."

"Could this be a case of plastic surgery gone horribly wrong? Or a genetic deformity?"

"I'm not sure. But I know who can tell me. Thanks, Evan." She took the case, the printout. "Keep this quiet, would you?"

"Sure. No one would believe me anyway. Hey, Moy, are you sure we're off phase?" He gave her a winning smile.

"Yes."

"Please tell me you're not thinking of that detective."

"What? Of course not! A detective like that and a girl like me? Never happen. Thanks again, Evan." She smiled. Planted a quick kiss on his cheek. She entered the main gallery room. "Detective Sheppard, I've got something for you to see. Oh oh." The room was empty.

"Looks like he ditched you," Evan quipped, following her.

"Great. I hope he hasn't found another hooker," she muttered with a sigh.

John stepped into the alley. It was full of dumpsters overflowing with litter. Hardly what one expected in the upscale surroundings. A black cat ran across John's path, and he shook his head, recalling the superstition. Cursed as two men stepped out from behind a dumpster. Two men John recognized. Both muscled, overly so, and clad in tight black t-shirts and jeans. A third emerged. A skinny man clad in leather and ostentatious gold jewelry.

"You moving up, Johnny? Avoiding me by going all highbrow now?" The New York accent was grating. Loud.

"No, Stiles. I paid you half."

"Half. Half's still owed. I don't care where you were for three weeks or what you've been doing these last six months and if you fell off the face of the Earth. You're back now and half is still owed. Plus interest. Doubled."

"Doubled? That's bullshit! I–" John advanced, paused. The muscled men were glowering. Spoiling for a fight. Brass knuckles gleamed on one.

"Look, you know me. I'm a reasonable man. My boss, not so much. Mikey's a stickler for the rules, you know. I saw that piece you are with. Fine piece of ass there, Sheppard. Shame if something was to happen to it."

John's gaze narrowed. "Don't you go fucking near her."

"Oh, I won't. You know what I like, Johnny. But these here, well, they might. They like a tight little ass, don't you, boys?" The men laughed. "So it's like this, Sheppard. Pay up by the end of the week or your new girl there will see some action."

"I said don't go near her," John said. Voice low, so fraught with almost primal intensity it made the muscled men take a step back from him. Made Stiles do the same. Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, nervous.

"Then pay up by Friday! We'll be keeping an eye on her for you. Insurance, you know. Oh...and we'll give you this subtle reminder."

The men advanced, smiling. John resigned himself with a sigh.


	5. Chapter 5

Vegas Blues: A Boy Named Sue5

Moira paced, paced, finding herself once again waiting for John. She considered using her cell phone. She considered just leaving. But she had seen his car parked where they had left it, and knew he was still in the area. Hearing the door open and close she whirled. "Where the hell have you...John? What happened?" She stared. A cut was slightly bleeding over his eye. A bruise was forming under it.

"Nothing. Ran into some old friends. Let's go, Moira." He led her out of the gallery, across the street.

"Slow down! What old friends? Hookers?"

"Funny. No. In." He practically shoved her into the car. Sprinted round and slid into the driver's seat. Burned rubber as he sped out of the parking lot and down the street. "Well?"

Moira was struggling to snap the seatbelt across her. "Huh. Oh. Go down the Strip. Off it. Beckett's. We need another opinion."

"Huh? Why? Couldn't pretty boy deliver?" he sneered. Following her instructions nonetheless.

"Oh, he delivered. But we need more insight. These friends of yours...I take it they're not fellow cops?"

"No. What kind of insight can we get there?"

"You'll see. Why do you keep checking the rearview mirror?"

"Why do you keep getting more people involved?" he countered.

John stared at the decrepit building standing amid a host of decrepit businesses and pawn shops and loan sharks and of course the requisite wedding chapel. "This place?" Clearly dubious he eyed the dingy establishment. The neon sign only half working, flashing Bec et, like a fancy French name. "Beckett's? And I thought I hung out in seedy places."

"Funny. Come on!" Moira led him into the bar. Darkness engulfed them. She moved to the long bar. It was mostly clean. Bowls of pretzels were surrounded by thin napkins. Rows and rows of alcohol lined the back wall. The floor was sticky. The chairs didn't match each other. The tables were small. There was music playing, some country tune that was sticking on one verse until someone kicked the jukebox and changed the song to rock and roll. "Carson!" she called.

A man stepped out of the shadows, moved behind the bar towards her. He was scruffy, blue eyes bloodshot. Brown hair rumpled. But a sharp intelligence gleamed. A smile lit his features. "Och! Moy! What brings you here?" John blinked at the Scottish accent.

"Business, I'm afraid. B and B times two. Booth five."

"All right, love." Carson Beckett eyed John, gaze narrowing.

"This way, detective." Moira touched his arm, led him to the back. Booths proliferated, shadowed and only lit by lonely, fake candles on the tables. It was quieter back here. More secluded.

"Who's that? Another fuck buddy?" he asked.

"No. Just a friend. Here." They sat across from each other. "I want to show you this."

"And what's B and B? Oh." John smiled as a waitress set down two plates loaded with hot, juicy burgers and fries. And two bottles of beer.

"I suppose you can't drink, being on the job?" Moira asked.

"A sip won't hurt. Burgers and beers," he translated.

She nodded. "Let's eat first. I don't know about you but I am starving! Then we'll need Carson's input on this."

John nodded. Took a sip of beer. Savoring the amber liquid as it coldness quenched his thirst. Tore into his burger, ravenous. Moira ate hers with equal relish. Soon the plates were empty. The beer bottles close to following. "What did you want to show me?" he asked at last. "Ah. The facial reconstruction?"

Moira nodded. She pushed the empty plates aside. Drew out the paper and unfolded it. Pushed it towards him on the table. "Take a look. Evan is very good at this kind of thing. He's even assisted the police once or twice with cold cases. I know what you're thinking. This thing, whatever it is couldn't possibly exist. And I'd agree except we have the bones and the skull. Incontrovertible proof, and it isn't a hoax. This face is what the thing looked like when it was alive, near as we can tell."

John was staring at the gruesome face looking back at him. He frowned. Pulled a pen from his pocket. He shook his head. "No. It didn't look like this...I mean it looked more human...blending in and..." He paused. A quick memory entered his mind, was gone. Of another creature. Lacking the human disguise. He used the pen to trace slits on the cheeks. To trace a weird tattoo around one eye. He slitted the eyes more. Stared at the face, lost for a moment. Pen poised above the drawing. Brow furrowing in concentration. Green eyes squinting as he tried to remember. Tried to force the memory to the surface.

He replaced the pen into this pocket. Met Moira's stare. "I...it just felt right." He pushed the paper towards her.

Moira turned it towards her. Stared at it a moment. Silent. Folded it and placed it in her pocket. "John, do you know what it is?"

He shook his head. "No."

"What's this, then? A private meeting?" Carson asked. He sat next to Moira. "What did you need this time, Moy? Make it quick. I've got customers."

"This is Detective John Sheppard. John, this is Doctor Carson Beckett."

"Former doctor," Carson amended. Eyed John. "A detective now? What's a detective doing with a paleontologist?"

"What's a doctor doing running a place like this?" John rejoined.

"We're investigating a crime," Moira supplied. "Here." She opened the case. John looked over but instead of the skull she produced a few vials. Closed the case and handed them to Carson.

"I was able to extract a very small amount of tissue and bone marrow. If you could work up any kind of genetic profile that would be very helpful to us. Frankly, we don't know what this is."

Carson eyed the vials. Brow furrowing. "Is this some new species you've discovered then?"

"Sort of. I–"

"We can't get into details because of the ongoing investigation," John interjected smoothly.

"I heard about this one. A body drained of all fluids and–"

"Where did you hear that?" John snapped.

"Here." Carson handed him a tabloid. The headline screamed at the top VEGAS VAMPIRE ATTACKS AGAIN!

John sighed. Saw the byline. "Damn it. That's just great, just great. Now I've got to deal with the press, or so-called press. This damn hack."

"So it's true? The body you found was drained of all–"

"That's on a need to know basis, doc," John interrupted, halting the other man's growing interest and curiosity.

"He needs to know," Moira argued.

"Not at the moment. We need the info on those samples ASAP, doc."

"Don't call me doc. All right, as a favor to Moira. Now if you'll excuse me this will take some time and I have a bar to run." He stood.

"Wait. How much do I owe you for lunch?"

"Nothing. Moira's gratis here."

Moira smiled. Seemed slightly embarrassed and grateful all at once. "Thank you, Carson."

John eyed her once the doctor had left them. "Gratis, huh? Are you sure he's not a fuck buddy?"

"Shut up! Carson's a close friend. He helped me through a, a very difficult time. Through something you wouldn't begin to understand."

"Oh." John saw he had hit a nerve and quickly stepped away from it. He sipped his beer. "We've all had those, baby. So what–"

"That's it, detective!" She stood. "I've got to get this back to the lab for further analysis. Should I call you with any new information?"

"Yes, you should. And I need to follow-up on your interview with the–"

"Just be sure to answer your damn phone this time!" She grabbed the case, swung it to her side, nearly knocking into him as she turned away from him. Turned back to him. Glared. "That is if you're not too busy whipping it out of your pants again!"

He smirked, moved to his feet as she walked away from him. "Hey, O'Meara, that is one pert little ass you are swinging at me!"

"Shut up, Sheppard!"

He laughed heartily. Enjoying the sparring as much as the flirtation. He grabbed the tabloid. Good mood dissipating as the headline caught his eye again. He crumpled the paper in his fist.

"I hate journalists," he decided.


	6. Chapter 6

Vegas Blues: A Boy Named Sue6

John sat at his desk. His jacket hung over his chair. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A small fan was running, circulating warm air and doing little to cool the office. He was staring at a pile of paperwork but his thoughts were far, far away. Thinking of that sketch. The skull. The bones. The features of this unknown creature. Recognition teased the back of his mind. He rubbed his forehead. The headache was haunting him. A dim throbbing only waiting to torment him. He opened a drawer. Downed some aspirin without water. He looked up, hearing a noise. A lanky man stood in the open doorway, hesitating. Red hair a halo as the hallway lights illuminated him from behind. "Yeah? What is it, Weaver?"

"We have an ID on the body. Lionel Thayer. Your basic type of Vegas lowlife. Wasn't even reported missing. I'd say this was case closed, Sheppard. An old murder gone cold. The body only turned up because of that excavation. No need to waste any time on it. I'm sure Captain Hendricks would agree."

"You're probably right, Weaver. Just need to dot the Is and cross the Ts." John sighed. Closed the report. He eyed the computer. Entered his password. Did some digging on a few names. People he had recently met, expecting to find nothing. He was surprised to find that while not having criminal records they all were in the national database. Bystanders to various crimes. Witnesses. Unwilling or unfortunate participants.

Evan Lorne had been in the Air Force but had been discharged, the files sealed. Carson Beckett had had his medical license suspended. Reasons unclear and there was a gag order on the litigation. Moira O'Meara had been involved in some terrible accident during an excavation that had resulted in several deaths. Including that of her former fiancé. John stared at the words, stunned. Feeling sympathy, empathy. The situation not too dissimilar from his own past, his own losses and culpability.

He felt the sudden urge to see her. He leaned down to unlock a drawer. To shove aside the bottle of Jack Daniels hidden there. To unlock the false bottom. He drew out a handful of files. Files from six months ago. Files of a case he couldn't remember. Looking at the pictures and reading the reports hadn't triggered a single memory. Nothing had until he had seen that body at the excavation site. He needed a second opinion. He shut down the computer and grabbed his jacket off the chair as he stood. Returned to scribble down her address.

The heat was a wave in the air. Visible as it shimmered on the hot asphalt. Palpable as it penetrated the interior of the car as John parked across the street from a modest ranch house. It was a modest neighborhood. Tidy lawns and houses. Plain, unassuming. John knew she could be anywhere. At the lab. At the museum. In the city. He wasn't sure why he was certain she would be here. At home.

A rap on his window broke his reverie. He turned his head and rolled down the window. Moira was leaning towards him. She had on an olive green tank top, giving him a generous view of the swells of her breasts. Tiny beads of sweat trickled along her skin. Stands of her long hair had escaped her ponytail and straggled along her skin. He caught a glimpse of a pink plaid bra. His cock jerked in his pants.

"Detective? Why are you casing my house? Is there something you wanted?" she asked, curious. Irritated.

John was still staring at her breasts. At the hint of the pink plaid bra peeking out of the fabric of the tank top. "I need to show you something," he finally said.

"I see. Well? Are you going to just sit there staring at my breasts or are you going to come inside?"

He smirked. Finally met her gaze. She was flushed from her jogging. Appeared irritated, brown eyes flashing ire. His pants felt tighter. "I'm not sure yet," he drawled. Smiled. Deliberately provocative.

Her gaze narrowed. She straightened. Turned. John watched her jog across the street, up the winding walkway to the house. The khaki shorts were hugging her rear as her ponytail was swinging side to side. He got out of the car, grabbing the files. Wondering why this woman seemed to always be giving him a hard-on, apart from the obvious. He sprinted across the street and up to her as she unlocked and opened the door.

Moira felt him behind her as she entered her house. She turned, closing the door as he paused, looking round the room. "I'll just go get changed and then you can–"

"Don't change on my account," he replied, catching her arm. Grasp gentle. Warm. Sliding his calloused fingertips along her skin.

Moira felt a shiver. His touch oddly intimate. "On my account, then, detective."

"Call me John. Here." He guided her to the green and brown couch. Sat. He set the folders on the glass table in front of him. Removed his sunglasses. "An old case. Files. The victims were killed with the same MO. Ten of them, in total. Nine having traces of radiation but not the last one. I guess the one you found makes it eleven in total."

"A serial killer?" she asked, sitting next to him.

"Maybe. I don't know. I just can't quite remember...hell, I can't remember anything!"

Moira glanced at him. She took the files. Read through them. Winced at the graphic photos of the drained bodies. The crime scenes lurid, mysterious. "Exsanguination down to the cellular level. How is that even possible? The bodies look as if they have aged decades! This is incredible!"

"Not the word I would have chosen, but yeah," he agreed.

"You know what I mean. No puncture wounds. So there's not a vampire in Vegas after all."

"Don't remind me of that hack," he muttered.

"How did it suck the life out of them? These?" She traced the odd circular marks on a victim's chest. "What is that? And you investigated this?" She met his gaze, set the files aside.

He was watching her. "Since I have the files I must have. Six months ago...something happened to me. I can't remember anything past that." He began to unbutton his shirt. Moira opened her mouth to protest but no words came. She watched as his nimble fingers undid button by button. He opened his shirt to show her the scars on his chest, his torso. "I remember being shot. After that, nothing. Before that, nothing. Until I woke up in a hospital and they said I had been the victim of a vicious drive-by shooting. Which I believed until, until recently. Until now."

Moira scooted closer. Her knee brushing his. She touched his chest, irresistibly, unaccountably drawn. Gently traced her fingers over the bullet scars. Circular scabs among the healthier surrounding flesh. Almost lost amid the dark chest hair. "So..." She swallowed, voice betraying her emotions, attraction, "do you have any memories of the case?" She withdrew her hand, looked away but he caught her fingers in his. Held her hand on his thigh, leaning close to her.

"Only bits and pieces. I remember an explosion. The desert. Military aircraft. That...someone, no, not really someone, but some thing. That skull, it reminded me of some thing but I'm not sure, exactly," he stated, gaze boring into hers. His mouth was only inches from hers now. His hand gliding hers up his thigh. "You. You calm that confusion in my mind when I try to remember," he explained.

"No." Her protest was soft. So soft John almost didn't hear it, as close as he was to her. She pulled back with an effort. She broke the moment, broke the contact. Bumping her knee on the table when she rose to get away from him, to put some distance between them. She stood on the other side of the table. "What do you want from me, Sheppard? Regression hypnosis therapy? I'm not that kind of doctor."

He smiled at her. Charmed by her flustered reaction. Her anger. "I think you know what I want, O'Meara. Apart from that I think you can help me with this. A fresh pair of eyes. And I think you can help me remember."

"How? No! Don't answer that!"

"I checked you out. The lot of you." John sat back, sprawling on the couch as if he owned it. Began to lazily button his shirt.

Moira tried to ignore her disappointment but his words startled her. "You did what?"

"It's my job, O'Meara. A bunch of botched careers. Don't get me wrong. I can relate. More than you know. Deaths. Accidents. A failed artist drummed out of the Air Force. A failed doctor ostracized by the medical profession. And then there's you. A failed paleontologist shunned by the museums because of a terrible tragedy."

"I think you should go now." Moira had gone very still. Became stiff. Any amorous reactions dissipating like ice under the hot, hot sun.

"Not yet." He tapped the files on the table. "This case. There's no record of it, except for what I have here. It's been wiped clean, which tells me the government is somehow involved."

"And? Can't you snoop into that as well?"

"Yes, to a point. But then my own checkered background gets in the way." He stood. Abruptly serious. Lifted the files and held them at his side in one hand. "I'm just saying, O'Meara, we need to be careful here. I have a feeling they'll be confiscating more from your dig sites. They'll want everything."

"And who are they?" she asked, dubious. It sounded like he was spinning a conspiracy theory and she wasn't buying it.

"Not sure. I can almost remember..."

"What? Men in black? What's next? Aliens from outer space? Are you seriously suggesting this thing is from outer space?"

He shrugged. "Hell if I know. But they do. If I could just remember..."

"Then go see a therapist. If we're done here, Sheppard, I have to get to work."

"Fine. Any developments call me. All right?"

"Sure." She watched him leave without another word. Stood staring after him. Broad shoulders moving under his rumpled jacket. Long stride taking him to the door and out of the house in mere seconds, although he wasn't rushing by any means. She shook her head. Annoyed. Curious. Intrigued despite herself. "Just answer your damn phone," she advised to the empty room.


	7. Chapter 7

Vegas Blues: A Boy Named Sue7

Moira rubbed her eyes. Sat back and stretched. Working sore muscles in her back and arms. She was in the lab, had been hunched over a microscope for hours. Inputting the data into the computer. Extrapolating. Theorizing. She uploaded it all to a flash drive. Waiting as the data was compressed. Feeling as paranoid as Sheppard, copying the files onto a more secure and secretive failsafe.

She tried not to think of the handsome yet infuriating detective. Tried not to recall the feel of his lean, hairy chest. The feel of his hands on hers. Moving her fingers up his muscled thigh. She tried not to imagine how soft those full, perfect lips were. How a kiss from that mouth would feel on hers. The taste of him. The tongue penetrating, teasing.

A noise roused her. She blinked, straightened in the chair to listen. Another noise, from the floor above her. The shuffling of feet. Low voices.

She grabbed her phone, dialed without realizing what she was doing. Assuring herself it was the cleaning crew working late, nothing more.

"Sheppard," John drawled into his phone as he headed for his car. The evening's shadows chased across his path as the sky turned from rose to violet. The heat was dissipating slowly, as if reluctant. The air still warm as a wind whistled around the police building.

Moira smiled. He sounded gruff, annoyed. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything, detective. Are your pants on for a change?"

John stopped, recognizing the voice. "Funny, O'Meara. You're not interrupting. What is it?"

"I'm sorry to call so late but you did say anything."

"And?"

"Carson sent me his prelim DNA analysis from the vestigial tissue samples and narrowed the–"

"The short version!"

She smiled at his tone. "It's human, but it's not."

"Ah. Well, that clarifies things. Thanks, doctor." He resumed walking.

She laughed. "I mean that there are two distinct species that–"

"No. Not over the phone. I'm five minutes out from the lab. Tell me in person," John decided, getting into his car.

"Aren't you being a little over para–" Moira stopped. A noise above her. Like something falling over, something heavy. Moira stood. Moved to the doorway. Peered out at the darkened hallway.

"–noid?" John finished for her. "Yeah, maybe. What's wrong? It's not like you to not finish a sentence. Or a paragraph."

"Funny. I heard a noise. A crash. It's probably just the cleaning crew, but they should have finished an hour ago."

"Don't move. I'm on my way." John started the car. Peeled out of the parking lot, nearly hitting another car on its way in. The driver gave him the finger. John returned the gesture with a smile.

"Moira?"

"I'm sure it's nothing, John, just the–" Another crash. "Crap! That sounds like the main lab where the specimens are! There's no way anyone is going to get their hands on those!"

"Moira, no! I'm almost there! Stay where you are!"

Moira ran to the desk, grabbed a weapon. "I've got a baseball bat, John, I'll be fine. We've had problems with looters before, don't you worry. I'm not losing valuable fossils to some punk kids!" She switched off the phone, slid into her pocket. Grasping the baseball bat she headed out of the office.

"Moira? Moira, no! Damn it!" John sped down the streets, swerving wildly. Reaching the lab he parked, noting the black van across the street. Grabbing his gun he sprinted across the lot, up to the door. Saw that it had been jimmied open. He entered, recalling the layout of the place during his brief time there. He moved past the empty foyer. Began to descend the stairs. It was quiet. Even the air conditioner was silent. Still.

Moira climbed the stairs, holding her makeshift weapon. It was quiet again. She saw a brief flicker of light. The beam of a flashlight. She paused, then headed for the lab. Low voices drew her. They didn't sound like kids or looters. Men's voices.

"Here! It's over here. Locked."

"Well, of course it's locked, Einstein, what did you expect?"

"Can you–"

"Of course. Give me a second here. Shine the light there."

Moira frowned. She approached the doorway. Hefted the bat, preparing to swing it. Suddenly she was grabbed from behind. A strong arm around her waist, a hand over her mouth. She dropped the bat. It clattered to the floor, rolled. She struggled but was pulled back into the shadows of the hallway.

"It's me," John whispered into her ear.

Moira stilled in his arms as two men exited the room. One flashing a gun. Neither appeared to be thieves, but businessmen. Dark, tailored suits and narrow ties. One balding and wearing glasses. The other had brown hair smoothed down to one side.

"What is that?"

"What's what? Oh...looks like a baseball bat. She knows we're here. Probably calling the cops right now."

"Then we haven't much time." He consulted his watch. "It must be in the secondary lab. There are only ordinary fossils here. Let's go. We need to retrieve the package before the cops get here."

"The package? You've been watching too many espionage movies."

The two men passed them. Only inches from where John and Moira stood. Moira tried to breathe as John pressed her body tightly against his. She squirmed. Something hard was poking her rear and she could only hope it was his gun. Except he shifted in response, made a quiet, quiet sound. Somewhere between a groan and a sigh.

The men paused, turning back. "What was that?"

"Nothing. Let's go. We don't have much time."

They headed down the hallway. Into another lab. The one staring round as the other easily overrode the security lock in mere seconds. John's hold loosened at last. Moira squirmed, whirled to face him. "You and your damn erection!" she hissed.

He laconically replied, "You and your damn pert little ass."

Moira grabbed the baseball hat. Headed for the other lab. John followed on her heels. There was something familiar about the two men in the brief glimpse he had seen, but he couldn't place it. At least they weren't Mikey's goons. He stepped in front of Moira. Turned on the lights and was about to speak when Moira charged in ahead of him. "Stop right there! This is private property and you are breaking the law!" She held up the bat as the two men whirled. She glanced at John who was just standing beside her. "Where's your gun? Say freeze or LVPD or whatever! What kind of cop are you?"

"A detective," he answered, keeping the weapon out of sight at the moment.

"And you're not packing?"

"Baby, I am always packing."

"Don't remind me!" She looked back at the two men. They hardly appeared menacing. More startled and guilty than criminal or dangerous. Looked more like accountants than burglars. "Who are–"

"I know you." John was staring at the men. At one in particular. His dark suit. His red shirt. His mild expression.

"Detective Sheppard, what are you doing here?" he asked, equally surprised.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my lab?" Moira asked.

"We're FBI, Doctor O'Meara," the one with glasses answered. "We need to confiscate everything from the crime scene."

"By breaking into my lab? There is nothing here from the crime scene," she argued. "Let's see some identification, then, if you are FBI." She glanced at John again. "Why am I doing your job? Arrest them!"

"You're doing fine," he noted. "They're here for the skull and skeletal remains."


	8. Chapter 8

Vegas Blues: A Boy Named Sue8

The two men exchanged a glance. Seemingly surprised at his deduction. The balding one sighed, shaking his head. "I told you. This isn't good. Seeing you will trigger the repressed memories," Richard Woolsey argued. Clearly unhappy. "We agreed he wasn't to be involved in any of this."

"I think we'll need him. And her," Rodney McKay noted. He moved to the drawer. Sliced the locks and opened it.

"John, who are they?" Moira asked, bat lowering as she could see no overt threat.

He shrugged. "I can't remember."

"No!" she protested. "You're not taking that! It's–"

"Evidence in an ongoing investigation," Richard finished for her. "Here." He handed her a sheaf of papers. "It's all legal. All sanctified by the US government. We just chose to acquire it now to avoid any...complications."

Moira took the papers. "And that's why you broke in here in the middle of the night? John, say something! Do something! Arrest them! John!"

John was staring at the other man as he deftly took the specimens and deposited them into a black knapsack. Memories flitted, just out of reach. Frustrating. Elusive. A familiarity he couldn't place, couldn't trust. Yet somehow did. "You know me. We were working on something like this?"

"Yes."

"Don't encourage him, Rodney," Richard cautioned. "He won't—"

"McKay. Rodney McKay," John muttered. Rubbed his forehead. A flash of memory. An interrogation room. An interview, of sorts. The room cast in shadows and a table. A cavernous room filled with ships, the kind he had never seen before. A pack of spearmint gum. A black van, like the one parked outside. No markings. No windows. A fleet of them in a parking lot. A dingy motel.

"If I didn't think he would be useful I never would have brought him back," Rodney countered. He turned, full knapsack in his hands. "Let's go. We got what we came for."

"Brought me back from where?" John asked.

"That's it! I'm calling the cops!" Moira pulled out her phone, began the call but Richard tried to snatch it from her.

"No, I can't let you do that. I said no." His grip on her hand tightened.

A gun clicked. "Get your hands off her." John aimed his weapon at Richard. Expression stern. His finger hovered over the trigger. Ready to fire if necessary.

"I'd do what he says, Dick. You have no idea how he is over her in that other reality."

"Over...huh?" John asked.

"Other reality?" Moira asked, equally baffled. She exchanged a glance with John.

Richard freed her hand. "Please, don't call the police. I can have this whole operation shut down. I can effectively end any further excavations in the area and you will lose whatever you have hoped to discover there. I can have you discredited just like that," he snapped his fingers, "and you will lose what little funding you have. You've stumbled into something that is over your head. Finished now. Just some loose ends that need to be tied. It's highly classified, and I'm sure you would prefer to avoid any unpleasantries."

"But you can't just take the–" she began to protest.

"Let them." John caught her arm, gently guiding her out of the way. Watching as the computer files were wiped clean. Watching as all traces of evidence were taken. Everything from the skull and bones to tissue samples. To the computer itself and any paper files.

"I'm sorry," Rodney stated, voice sincere, "but it has to be this way, truly. You are better off out of it. Both of you are." He paused in front of them as Richard headed for the doorway. "Funny, Doctor O'Meara. You always end up in Sheppard's orbit one way or another."

"What? We just met!" She glanced at John who appeared equally puzzled.

"You both need to forget all of this. Don't pursue it. It's a closed case now. Detective, you'll find the case closed and all the paperwork completed. Doctor, your excavation can continue once we clear the area. But the construction on the transformer is due to resume in two days so you won't have much time. All of the prehistoric fossils will be returned to you. Again, I am sorry, so sorry," he added, his Canadian inflection noticeable. He sounded as if he was apologizing for something else. He followed Richard out of the lab.

Moira stared round the quiet lab. Stared forlornly at the now empty drawer. At the stripped computer. At the missing pile of papers that had been beside it. At the empty tray that once held vials. Samples. She felt the weight of the flash drive in her pocket. She glared at John. "Thanks for nothing!"

He met her gaze. "What did you expect me to do?"

"Oh, I don't know...arrest them! I don't care if they were federal agents or not they broke into this lab and stole things! Do you even know who they are?"

"No. Not yet. But I will." He grabbed a roll of tape. Looked round. Found a powdery substance and spread it carefully on the table, the drawer. Blew gently on it. Pressed the tape down, peeled it up carefully. Placed it in a plastic bag. "Fingerprints. That's a start."

"Did you understand any of what they were talking about?"

"Not really. You?"

"No. It was if they already knew us. Well, that one guy did. I think. And that other reality talk? What was that about?"

"And I was brought back. From what? From where?" John wondered.

Moira shook the papers at him. "I don't care what this legalese bullshit says. They can't get away with this! I'll show these to the museum's legal department." She headed out of the lab. "They won't get away with this. They should be charged with breaking and entering at the very least! And you! What kind of cop are you? A crime was committed and you just stood there and did nothing! Nothing but exchange pleasantries like a day at the beach not a fucking break-in and you witnessed property being stolen and a near assault and you did nothing but just stand there and stare and rack your brains for some memory that probably doesn't even exist let alone help the situation and the-"

Moira broke off abruptly as she was spun round. Shoved against a wall. A mouth was firmly pressed to hers. Soft lips encompassing hers. Scruff rubbing her cheek in a delicious friction. A long, deep, devouring kiss. Lips moving, parting hers with gentle persuasion. A tongue infiltrating, teasing. The press of his hard, long body into hers in the darkness of the hallway. Her fingers caught at his arms, pushing then pulling. Relaxing, then sliding down to his elbows as he pinned her to the wall. The gruff taste of alcohol stinging. The scent of cheap cologne and pure male energy intoxicating. Alluring. Alarming.

John drew back at last. Moira tried to catch her breath, to breathe, to surface. Chest rising and falling rapidly. His green, green eyes locked with her brown ones. Body still pressed to hers. Their physical reactions unmistakable. Vivid. Inevitable. He stepped back from her before he did more. Before he found himself needing to do more. He freed her. Licked his lips. The taste of her dancing on his lips, on his tongue. The taste of vanilla and strawberries and even the antiseptic from the lab all mingling. "Sorry. It was the only way to shut you up," he explained. Voice gruff, low. It sent a shiver along her body. Into places she'd rather not acknowledge.

She moved her mouth to answer but no words came. Until he smiled at her. Quirked a brow. Smirked. A smug confidence on his handsome face. "Next time just ask," she stated. Shoved past him and hastened down the hallway. Having to get away from him.

John smiled. Followed after her quick strides wishing there was more light to see her swinging ponytail. Her shapely rear as she all but ran to the foyer. "Moira," he said.

"Just go! I have to call security so they can reboot the system and replace the locks on the doors. God knows how I am going to explain all of this!" She was using the phone at the reception desk, not looking at him. "Oh, don't you worry, John! I won't say a thing about your creepy friends and their secretive government agency! I'll think of something more believable! Just go, John! Please."

He touched her arm. Not knowing what to say. A host of his own questions in his mind. Questions she couldn't answer. But McKay could. He hesitated a moment. Abruptly left. She stared after him.

A lone sigh escaped her lips.


	9. Chapter 9

Vegas Blues: A Boy Named Sue9

Moira knocked back another shot. Grimaced at the taste, as the alcohol burned its way down her. She set the shot glass onto the table and blearily eyed the clock. "Can you believe that?"she asked for the third time. Words slurring slightly. "And now all we have is what I saved on the flash drive! The rest is gone. Gone! And he, he did nothing! Just stood there looking all hot and smouldering and sexy and didn't do a damn thing!"

"At least you still have the flash drive," Evan reasoned, moving the half-empty bottle out of her reach. "And I have the scans from the skull still. And Carson has his own records."

"But no physical evidence! I'll check the site tomorrow but I'm sure if there was anything else there it's gone by now. Ransacked and stolen like the skull and shreleton," she slurred.

Evan smiled. "I think you need to sleep this off, Moy."

She batted his hand off her arm. "No. I'm fine!" She stood, swayed. "Okay, maybe a quick catnap but no shex! No sex!"

Evan laughed, stood and helped her across the room to his bedroom. "You can have the bed, then. I'll take the couch."

Moira sat on the bed, reclined onto her back, feet on the floor. The ceiling was spinning. As was the bed under her. "Stop moving the bed, Evan! Can you believe that?"

"After what you put away, yes, I can."

"No! Can you believe he just stood there and did nothing! Just stood there, infuriating, handsome and did nothing! Fuck he's so beautiful it's almost too much! But so fucking obstinate and then when he kissed me he was so, so..."

"Huh? Moy? Moira?" Evan leaned close. Moira was out cold. Evan shook his head. Threw a blanket over her and sighed. Headed for the couch.

John woke. Rolled over in his bed. He was alone. In his own apartment. Instead of the usual weird mix of flitting memories awakening him it had been an erotic dream of Moira. Moira clad in nothing but her pink plaid underwear and a white lab coat. Bent over a table as John did some exploratory excavating of his own. He smiled at the sexual imagery even as it faded, as his stirring hard-on mourned their loss.

He sighed, rolled onto his back. Could imagine her snug in her bed in some slutty little negligee. He wondered why he kept thinking of her. Particularly in that way. She wasn't even his type. Not beautiful by far. Unfriendly and exasperating. Annoying certainly. She needed to be tamed. Needed a good, thorough spanking on that pert little ass. He smirked as his body agreed with him. Urging him to follow through on the idea. He rolled onto his other side and reached for his phone.

Moira snorted. Sat. Wide awake. Broken out of a blissfully erotic dream where Detective Sheppard had been interrogating her, except he only had on a pair of silky black boxer shorts that had clung to every hard line of his lower body. "Evan?" She blearily eyed the dark room. Grimaced at the awful taste in her mouth. Moved to the bathroom to rinse out her mouth. To wash her face. She stared at herself in the mirror. She was a wreck. Wild hair, red eyes. She laughed, regretted it as her head ached.

Moira quickly cleaned up, combed her hair. Entered the main room. Evan was sprawled on the couch, fast asleep. She smiled. Planted a kiss on his brow and left his apartment.

John scowled. There was no answer. He got out of bed. Quickly dressed. Grabbing his keys he left the apartment. Drove, thinking. Deciding. He headed for her house. Once clear of the bright lights of the city the streets were deserted at this hour. Quiet. He parked across the street. Sat in his car, debating. She was probably asleep. He could imagine her all annoyed coming to answer the door. Messy. Sleepy. Vulnerable.

He got out of the car. Strolled across the street. Up to the door and rang the bell. He waited. Rang it again. Oblivious to the fact that it was two in the morning. No lights came on inside. No noises could be heard.

He heard a car door open and close. Ignored it as he waited. He knocked on the door.

Moira stared at the detective standing outside her door. His clothes rumpled along his tall, lean frame. Broad shoulders. Firm rear as he leaned to peer into a window. She wondered what it would be like to be entwined with those long limbs, with all of that. Dismissed the thought. She crossed the street as the cab drove the other way. "Detective?"

Her sharp voice made him whirl, nearly go for his gun. "Oh. It's you."

"Yes. My house."

"Where the hell have you been?" he asked, gaze raking over her.

"This is Vegas, sweetie. Everything's open all of the time. What do you want?"

He smiled. "I had a dream about you."

"And you came all this way to tell me about it?"

"You weren't answering your phone."

"You came all this way to tell me about it?" she repeated.

"Are you drunk?"

"I was. Are you?"

"Nah. Just horny. Are we going in?"

She stared at him. Scowled. Shoved past him and unlocked the door. She turned on the lights, but whirled as he followed after her. She touched his chest, pushing him backwards. "I didn't invite you in."

"You had better before you fall down," he argued, amused.

"Go home, Sheppard."

"Not yet, O'Meara."

"I don't want to hear your dream."

"Are you sure? It was hot. Really, really, really hot." He stepped closer with each word, and her hand slid off him. His body was nearly brushing hers. His lips inches from hers. Gaze boring into hers.

"No. I don't want to hear it," she repeated, voice a whisper.

"Okay." He stepped past her. Plopped down on the couch. Legs sprawled in front of him. One arm draped along the back of the couch. "This case has been officially closed. It's a cold case. An unsolved homicide of some lowlife drifter. End of story."

Moira closed the front door. "But it's not the end, is it? At least not for you, detective."

"No," he admitted.

She moved to stand in front of him. The table between them. Arms folded under her breasts. "You know there is more to it, but you can't remember. Not yet, anyway. And until you do you'll feel a piece of your life is missing."

John scowled. "Are you going to psychoanalyze me now, doctor?"

"Isn't that what you wanted from me, detective?"

"Among other things." He sat forward, hands on his knees. "Look, we both know there is more going on here. If I could only remember then we'd have all the pieces. If we–"

"Whoa there," she interrupted, holding up a hand. "What do you mean, we? My part in this is done. My site's being bulldozed in two days. I need to work on what precious little we managed to save. You heard that guy. If I do more I lose my funding. I can't afford to do that. This is your problem, detective, not mine."

He stood suddenly. "I see. But you must have saved that data in some way, right?"

"Yes." She stepped round the table to him. Touched his arm. "Let it go, John. Some things are better left in the dark. The case is closed, as you said."

"What's spooked you? You were damn determined to follow this earlier."

"Yes, but no longer. Without any physical evidence all we have is conjecture. Theories. We can't even begin to prove them much less analyze. Let it go, John. There's nothing to be gained by it. It's a dead end. There's nothing to be gained."

"Only my memories. I need to know what happened to me, Moira. Six months ago something did and it's a complete blank. And that thing...whatever it was...is...was...you can't tell me you're not curious about it."

"Of course I'm curious about it," she agreed, taking his arm. Guiding him to the front door. "Without physical evidence we have nothing. And these people, whoever they are, they are powerful. They could crush what little we have, what little I have. So no, John, I can't. Go home, detective. Go to bed. Those memories will surface on their own, eventually. Probably when you've moved on to other things. Other cases. Other crimes."

"You're moving on as well?" he surmised as she opened the door.

She met his gaze. "Yes. Another excavation. Goodnight, detective." She held the door open. Waited. Waited.

He smiled. Didn't move. "Are you sure, doctor?" He raised a brow. Invitation obvious.

She smiled. "Yes, I'm sure, detective. Goodnight."

"You mean good morning." He nodded. Stepped out of the house. Stepping out of her life. Stepping out of the case, but not for long. No, not for long.

He stepped into the hushed stillness of the Vegas night.


End file.
